Broken (6 page)

“What time did you leave last night?” he asks as the car starts to move.

“Just after nine.”

“Be sure to let admin know. You’ll be paid double time for the extra hours.”

That’s unexpected and it brings a smile to my face. The ensuing silence seems awkward and I consider turning on the radio but I don’t feel as bold as yesterday.

“So,” James begins. “Are you working on anything right now?”

“Um… you mean a book?”

He nods, keeping his eyes straight ahead. “Yes.”

My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. I’m not used to discussing my writing. No one ever asks except Tess. My family know, but in all honesty I’m sure they think I’m wasting my time on an unrealistic fantasy. They don’t understand. It’s not about fame and bestseller lists. I write because I enjoy it. Other people reading my work is a bonus, not a necessity. “I’m taking a little break. I started something new last month but I’m not quite connecting with it yet.”

“Ah, you’re in the dating phase. You’re still getting to know your characters.”

“You write?” I ask, studying his face as he drives. He’s said a couple of things since we met that makes me think he understands life behind the pen.

“No,” he says, making eye contact with me for a brief second before looking back to the road. “But I’ve been in this business a long time. You pick things up.”

This morning I don’t question it when he takes the ‘wrong’ turning. I assume stopping for coffee is part of his daily routine.

“Coffee?” he offers as he slows to a stop on the street behind Costa.

“Please,” I answer, reaching into my wallet and removing a fiver. He tries to push my hand away but I grab his arm and force the note into his fist. After a few seconds, he grins at me and I realise it’s because I’m still holding his wrist. Embarrassed, I snatch my grip away and stare down at my knees.
What a bellend.

When I see James return holding coffee cups
and
two paper bags, I roll my eyes. I didn’t give him enough cash for food and I decide he’s done it on purpose just to piss me off.

When he opens the door, I take the bag from him but I can’t prevent the scowl that appears on my face. “I’m not hungry.”

“Ah, there’s the Theodore I know,” he says, sniggering as he slides into his seat. “Thought I’d lost you there for a little while.”

Sarcastic bastard.

“If it makes you feel better, I used my loyalty points. Didn’t cost me anything.”

It doesn’t. Presumptuous twat.

I don’t speak the rest of the way. Instead, I listen to James sing along to
Run
by Snow Patrol. I tell myself it’s annoying and that he can’t sing for shit, but truthfully he’s actually pretty good. His tone is deep, soothing.

I still hate him.

As we walk to the office I purposely lag behind a few steps, not wanting to give Mike any more ammunition. When James reaches the lift, I notice Ed scurry towards him, looking up at him with eager puppy-eyes while handing him a file. I guess this means James’ PA is still absent. It frustrates me. I miss having Ed around. It means I have to work doubly hard and make twice as many coffees.

I run into Mike as soon as I exit the stairs. It’s hard to believe I thought he had a nice arse just ten days ago. Now, I’m struggling to find a single redeeming quality about him. “I need you to make a reservation at Paulo’s for one o’clock. Eight people. Secluded spot.”

Good morning to you, too.
“Sure,” I say, carrying on toward my desk.

“I have a meeting in my office at ten. Make sure you’re there to provide refreshments.”

“No problem.”

“And Carol in editing has some files for me. I need you to collect those beforehand.”

Anything else? Want me to stick a broom up my arse and sweep the floors as I go?
“Yep.”

“Oh, and arrange a meeting with Holden. I need to talk to him about a client.”

“Sure.”

Mike starts to walk away and I sigh in relief, pulling out my chair.

“Before you sit down,” he calls, turning back.

Oh for fuck’s sake.

“Go to his office. He’ll only fob you off on the phone. While you’re there tell him I need Walsh back here this afternoon. I want him to join me at the lunch meeting. Do it now.”

“Sure,” I agree
again
, although I’m pretty certain you don’t
tell
James Holden to do anything.

Huffing, I shove my chair back under my desk and make my way to the top floor.
This isn’t turning out to be such a dream job after all.

**********

I have
no
idea how it’s become routine, but I’ve climbed into James’ car every morning and afternoon this week. I’m trying so hard not to like him, but he’s not making it easy. One minute he’s irritating the hell out of me, the next he makes me laugh. Then he gets smug because he’s put a smile on my face and I’m right back to hating him again.

James is singing to
Rhythm of Love
by the Plain White T’s when he veers into the small car park next to my block of flats and it’s hard not to feel uplifted by the juvenile, carefree expression on his face. He throws his all into the words, pulling faces and twisting his body as if he’s on stage.

“Oh come on,” he says, turning the music down. “How can you
not
sing to this song?”

You’ve heard my singing voice. It’s not pretty.
“Quite easily,” I reply, my expression stoic. I get out of the car without saying ‘See you tomorrow,’ because, as always, I’m not planning to accept another lift to work in the morning, even though I know I will.

I start walking down the concrete path to my building when I hear his car door close.
Is he following me?
I think, but I don’t turn around. Then he carries on singing the lyrics to
Rhythm of Love
, his hand appearing on my shoulder and spinning me around.

“Dance with me,” he says, positioning my arms into a tango position.

He sways me from side to side, still singing, still smiling, and as much as I don’t want to, I give in and laugh. “What’s gotten into you? People will stare at us!”

“So?”

He twirls me around and grinds our hips together, in the middle of a public car park in broad frigging daylight…and I let him, because it’s fun. Until two teenage girls walk past, pointing and giggling like we’ve just escaped from an asylum.

Pulling back, unable to stop smiling, I shake my head. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

James grins, that smug half-smile that annoys me so much. “That’s all I wanted from you.”

Seriously?
He did all that because I didn’t say I’d see him tomorrow? It frustrates me that I’ve given him exactly what he wants. “You’re such a wanker.”

“A wanker who’ll see you at eight AM sharp.” He winks and it makes me feel giddy. I don’t let it show, or so I think before the smarmy twat smiles even wider. “Good night, Theodore.”

Don’t reply. Don’t reply.
“Good night, James.”

For fuck’s sake.

~James~

Ten days later…

I’m
in a foul mood. I don’t know if it’s because I’ve been in my office since four AM, or because Theodore got his car back two days ago. I’d enjoyed bringing him to and from work. It broke up the monotony of the mornings and put me in a good mood for the rest of the day.

I miss it.

My initial goal was to soften him enough to get back in his pants, yet weirdly, I feel an even greater sense of satisfaction from the fact he no longer looks at me like he wants to ram his knuckles into my face. Each day, he’s become a little more willing to answer my questions. He’s stopped hesitating. He’s fun, and that’s a new experience for me. I want,
need
more, even if that makes me the most selfish guy on the planet.

The only thing I miss is that he doesn’t blush as easily anymore. I need to work on that.

The building is deserted on a Saturday and I’m enjoying the calm. I’m easily distracted of late, making concentrating difficult, so I use the quiet of the weekend to catch up on all the loose ends left over from last week.

I’m reading through the contract my solicitor has drawn up for the new magazine deal when there’s an unexpected knock on my door. My brother, Max, walks in before I can answer. He’s only three years older than me but he dresses like an old man. Today, he looks like he’s off to the golf course, dressed in an argyle jumper and beige trousers. The funny thing is he’s never picked up a club in his life. “The bald guy on reception let me in,” he explains. “What are you doing here on a Saturday? And why aren’t you answering your phone?”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes and stuff the contract back in its envelope. “I had a backlog to clear. Saturday’s the perfect time. No interruptions.”

“On your birthday?” Max produces the hand he’s been hiding behind his back and passes me a small box wrapped in silver paper with a card taped to the top.

“Thanks,” I say, forcing a smile as I take it from him. I put it on my desk, knowing it contains my annual bottle of Armani aftershave without needing to open it.

“If you’re not doing anything to celebrate, Laura and I would love to have you over for dinner.”

“Sorry, Max. I’m going out with some friends.” He knows I’m lying. I’m not a ‘friends’ kind of man. “Another time, though,” I add. I doubt he believes that either.

“Isobel misses you.”

It’s a low blow, playing the niece card. She’s only three. I’m not sure a child that age is even capable of missing someone.

“I’ll come over, I promise.” I take a deep breath and force myself to say it before I change my mind. “Next Friday. I’ll come round after I’ve finished here.”

Max smiles but doesn’t look altogether convinced. I can’t blame him for being sceptical, but I
will
stick to my word, if only to keep him off my back for a couple of months.

“I’ll let Laura know. I’ll invite Mum, too.”

“Sure.” I start replying to an email that can really wait until Monday, but it makes me look busy and I hope Max will take the hint and leave. He’s a great brother, and I love him, I’m just not in the mood for him today. For
anyone
.

“I can see you’re busy. I’ll get going.”

“Sorry.” I’m really not. “I have to get things finished here.”

“No problem. Don’t spend all day here though, eh? You should be enjoying today.”

Why? It’s no different to all the other days of my fucked-up existence.
“I will. Just later.”

Max turns for the door, pausing when he reaches it. “And don’t forget to call Mum. She tried this morning but couldn’t reach you either.”

“Will do.” And I
will
, but again, later. I’m grateful she’s staying with a friend in London this weekend so I don’t have to see her. I don’t celebrate my birthday and my mum is just another person I need to pretend for.

“You look tired. You sure you’re okay?”

I’m not tired. I’m bored. Despite surviving on two hours sleep a night for the last several weeks, I haven’t had so much energy in a long time. If I had to choose one emotion to describe how I feel about not being able to sleep it would be gratitude.
Relief
. It’s terrifying to close your eyes and not know if you’ll be okay when you wake up. Because that’s how fast the switch can flip. “I’m fine, Max,” I say, my tone frustrated.

“Don’t be like that. You know I’m only looking out for you.”

My mouth turns down into a guilty frown. “I know. Sorry. I got up early to come here, but I’m okay. Promise.”

Max doesn’t understand the sheer magnitude of my responsibilities here. He never took an interest in this business and is happy working a management post, nine-to-five in a call centre.

“Good. I’ll call you in the week to remind you about Friday.”

I nod and offer a brief wave before continuing to type out the unimportant email. I close it again, shutting down the system, as soon as Max is out of sight.

“Fuck this,” I say to no one, sliding out from my desk. Sick of the boredom, I grab my jacket and toss it over my shoulder. I leave the office not knowing what I plan to do next, hoping it will come to me while I drive.

The further away I get from Holden House the more energy bubbles up in my stomach. Cranking up the stereo, I press a little harder on the accelerator and head back to my city apartment to change. I need to move. Run. Exercise until my lungs burn. If I don’t corrode some of this excess energy I will combust.

So, after changing into some jogging pants and a white vest, I pull on my trainers and set off, on foot, to Heaton Park. I jog at a steady pace for just under an hour until I reach the north entrance. Once I’m through the gates, I attach my iPhone to the band around my upper arm and plug my earphones into my ears. Hitting shuffle, I set off into a fast run.

Radioactive
by Imagine Dragons blasts into my ears as I veer onto the grass, cutting through some trees to avoid the crowded play park and public areas. There’s a chill in the air, whipping my cheeks, but it does nothing to stifle the beads of sweat rolling down my back. I focus on my breathing, keeping it even, as I increase my speed.

After twenty minutes the muscles in my legs begin to burn and I keep going, embracing the pain. I’m so hyped up I feel like I could run for days without needing a break. There’s another jogger in the distance. He’s fast, but I’m faster, and I challenge myself to overtake him. I do it with ease and carry on going until I reach Heaton Hall. I rest for a moment, admiring the rolling hills in the distance while I stretch my limbs. They ache, but not enough, so I turn back and sprint the same distance again.

Some days, by this point, I call a cab to take me home, but not today. Today, I
need
this. I need both the exertion
and
the pain it brings. That’s why I make my way home on foot, stretching my journey even further by using hidden pathways and side streets.

The burn in my lungs I’ve been chasing only appears when I see my apartment building, in the centre of Spinningfields, ahead. I relish it, panting through the throb in my chest as I jog towards it.

Back in my penthouse apartment, I head straight to the fridge and pluck out a bottle of spring water. My throat welcomes the coolness and I drink every drop without pausing to take a breath. I toss the empty plastic into the bin and brace myself on the kitchen counter, my head sagging.

Now what?

My foot taps impatiently against the tiled floor and I scan my surroundings as if they’ll give me the answer. I check my watch, pleased to discover my run has made four hours pass. It’s still too early to hit the village, but decide that’s my plan once I’ve had a bath and a snack. A few drinks and a good fuck is what I need.

Happy fucking birthday.

**********

I ended up taking a shower, unable to summon enough patience to wait for the bath to fill. I skipped the snack for the same reason. Now, I’m in the village, dressed in casual jeans and a smart black shirt, drinking alone in the corner of a bar. I’m bored out of my skull but as I sip the scotch I know I shouldn’t be drinking, I see some entertainment walking towards the bathrooms. I drain my glass, wincing as it stings my throat, and follow him.

He looks pretty young but that doesn’t bother me. He’s by the sink when I reach him, washing his hands. I make eye contact with him in the mirror and I can’t tell if he’s going to be the eager type, which is unusual for me. I take a chance anyway, cupping his arse through his jeans.

I’m about to whisper in his ear but he spins around and shoves me away. “Get fucked,” he spits, and walks straight out of the bathroom.

Well, shit.
It must be years since I was last rejected. It pisses me off. Not because I’m not drilling his hot little arse right now, but because I can’t shake this fucking boredom. Huffing, I head back to the bar. Maybe if I drink enough I’ll forget that I’m bored. It’s worth a shot, so I start ordering doubles. I know I shouldn’t, but it’s my fucking birthday. One night won’t hurt.

Four doubles down, and I need to go someplace lively, so I walk out onto the street and hit up a club instead. The throb of the music beneath my feet uplifts me instantly and, after another couple of drinks, I find myself dancing on one of the podiums with some twink in a leather harness. He grinds his arse against my crotch but I’m barely paying attention. My arms are raised high above my head as I jump up and down in time with the beat. I can’t be sure through the flashing lights, but I think I spot the redhead apprentice from marketing on the dance-floor below.

Bingo
. I scan my murky brain for his name but only manage to come up with a memory of him kneeling on my office floor while I rammed my dick down his throat. Whatever his name is, he’s a done deal already. If I remember rightly, I owe him a fuck anyway, so I jump down from the podium, stumbling when my feet hit the floor and losing sight of the redhead in the process.

Fuck
. I feel dizzy. Sick. I look around and the dancing bodies surrounding me have blurred into fuzzy blocks of colour. I need some air, maybe a smoke, so I weave my way through the crowd until I see the orange glow of a streetlight shining through an open door. I knock into several people as I make my way outside. They yell at me, but I don’t hear what they say.

My legs feel weak, wobbling under the weight of my body, so I cross the cobbled street and use the wall guarding the canal for support. Grabbing it with both hands, I tip my head back and relish the cold air that blankets my flushed face. It feels good. I close my eyes, concentrating on the direction of the breeze. Although lightheaded, I feel fucking amazing. A rush of ideas for the business flood my brain and I need to go home and write them all down before my head bursts under the pressure.

“Hey.”

“
Mmm
,” I murmur. His voice is beautiful. Calming. But I’m drunk and convince myself I’ve imagined it.

“Are you okay?”

I feel like I’m floating as I turn around. When I see Theodore’s stunning face staring back at me, I wonder if I’ve passed out and I’m dreaming about him. He looks concerned, his brow furrowed as he steps towards me.

He places a gentle hand on my shoulder and I press my lips to it, smiling against his flesh. His skin is cool, refreshing, and I rub my cheek over it. “Are you okay?” he repeats, his voice urgent.

“I will be if you let me fuck you,” I say, pressing my chest to his and kissing along his jaw. He tries to push me away, but I’m insistent, grabbing at his dick through his pants.

“Stop!” he roars, wedging his hands between our bodies and forcing me away.

I trip over my own feet and smack my back on the wall. “Fuck you,” I snap, glowering at him.

“What’s wrong with you? I saw you in the club and… this, this isn’t you.”

“You don’t fucking know me.” My words are slurred but it doesn’t stop me talking. “You don’t know anything about me.”
Nobody does.

“I know you’ve had too much to drink. Let me get you to the taxi rank.”

I stop listening, too fascinated by the ripples in the canal below me. I’m too hot. I bet that water is cool, though. It entices me. I want to feel it on my skin.

“What the…” I think Theodore is talking but I’ve lost interest in him. He doesn’t want me to fuck him? Fine. There’s no reason for him to still be here. “What the fuck are you doing?”

It feels like something is caught on my shirt but I push past the resistance and hitch a second foot onto the wall. I’m crouched down, balancing, about to stand when suddenly I feel pressure around my waist.

I fall backwards, landing with a thud onto the hard ground. My eyes are open but all I can see are lights and a blurred face. A shock of pain registers and I think it’s coming from my wrist. Or maybe my neck. My back hurts, too.
Or is it my head?

“What the hell are you playing at?” I know that voice. That’s Theodore’s voice. It makes me smile. I wonder if he’s the fuzzy face hovering over me. I reach out to touch it but the figure disappears.